


Me and the Devil

by Baryshnikov



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Asexual Tom, M/M, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Purebloods, Stream of Consciousness, The Sacred twenty-eight, rich people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 05:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15212528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baryshnikov/pseuds/Baryshnikov
Summary: Tom discovers the pleasures and advantages that come with being ridiculously wealthy.





	Me and the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song 'Me and the devil' by Soap&Skin which I listened to on repeat while writing this instead of sleeping,
> 
> This also fits, I suppose, into my headcanon that Tom really hates rich people (most of the pureblood Slytherins) but also really needs money, so has to just put up with them; because I always see Tom as having an absolute love-hate relationship with everyone else ever.

Heels clicked against the polished wood floors. The high chandeliers glittered with an unquenchable flame and threw sinister shadows across the walls.  
The stylish excess set Tom’s pulse fluttering, it was so extravagant, achingly old and achingly beautiful. It was a legacy, a symbol of the glittering swishiness of the sacred twenty-eight and everything they stood for. It was so different from everything he had ever known: every surface gleamed with wealth, every surface contained the opportunity to show off an infinitely rarer piece of art, and to declare so blatantly the obscene superfluity of being rich.  
Tom ran his fingers along the wooden bannisters that glittered after being polished for hours, he spared no thought for who had done the polishing. Why should he when this felt like home.  
This was the world that he should belong to. He was the heir of Slytherin, he had Salazar’s blood in his veins, he was a god that walked amongst mere mortals.  
Pureblood surrounded him, just as his ancestors would have wanted. Blood as pure and clean as water ran through the veins of everyone who stepped foot in here. He belonged here, his father was dead and as far as anyone knew, he was just like them. 

It made him dizzy, to think of immoderation, the sheer lack of control that it must take to have a property so flagrantly expensive. The lack of control to have so much, and still, want more. Perhaps it wasn’t a lack of control, perhaps it was just a lack of care for other’s opinions; either way, it was sickeningly beautiful.  
The hum of voices, fine melody of strings, and click of shoes seemed to encompass all that wealth meant. It created opportunity, it created colours he’d never seen before, a class he’d never experienced but had always dreamed to find. Wealth was the door that led to a better world and all he needed was a key.

Malfoy was waiting at the end of the corridor, smiling. He looked rich. A suit tailored to fit him nauseatingly well; it creased in all the right places to show the sharp angles Malfoy prided himself on. His hair was tied back, a few feathered tresses pulled out to frame his face. He smoothed them back behind his ears as he watched Tom approach.  
It was so easy to be so casual when that much money stood behind you, and it was obvious Malfoy knew it. No one could be that smug, that relaxed in the current world unless they knew they were safe, and the only way to truly be safe was through money. Then, however horrifying your crime, there would never be a consequence.  
It should have been disturbing that the modern democracy could so easily be brought, but it was fascinating. Fascinating that people were so corruptible, so weak that they would break at the instant they were offered anything that shined.  
The sickness was obvious when Tom looked, all around him there were signs that the pulsating core of this world was rotting. The putrid stench of wealth hung about the room, about the people, about everything that existed inside the superficial heart of this world. It gnawed at it and the people who thrived off it, until they were decayed, shallow people who cared about image more than morality; not that Tom was complaining.  
If Malfoy, smiling smugly before him, had a moral compass, it wasn’t a very good one. He’d watched Malfoy kiss a girl whispering sweet little things to her, then fuck her brother against the wall. He’d watched him roll the lifeless body of that Muggle into a deep grave and lie about ever having known the boy. Not to mention the wide variety of methods he’d used to cheat at every chess game they’d ever played; all with a demure smile that could fool almost anyone. Yes, Malfoy’s guiding philosophies were distorted. They debased integrity and warped the basic morals of society, all for or because of money. To other people, these would have been deep flaws, but to Tom, they didn’t seem that terrible. So what if Malfoy wasn’t honest, it made him more fun to be around and it was beautiful to watch money slowly fermenting the highest and mightiest. Tom didn’t care though because, although Malfoy may take liberties, may test how far he could push Tom’s favouritism, and may never be honest, it could all be overlooked for that confidence that money provided.  
Of course, the rest of the families had it, but none showed it as ostentatiously as the Malfoys. Lestrange and Black had always been alternatives, unfortunately, though, Lestrange seemed to have found the equilibrium between hedonism and asceticism, he spent his money too wisely, too frugally to be truly exciting. Meanwhile Black was simply insufferable, his wealth entirely grounded in his identity meant the family name came before everything and everyone; enduring that was not worth all the money in the world. But Malfoy, he struck the right balance between a flagrant display of wealth, pride of blood purity, and spending astutely enough to get his way when he wanted it.

They were all rotting from the inside out, but Malfoy was enjoying it, revelling in a depravity that had only increased recently, Lestrange recoiled at it, and even Black refused to be enthused by what money could do. But Malfoy, he was screaming to the world that he was rich and didn’t care for their comments on his privilege. His recklessness had reached a level of elegance that could have been an art form. He seemed to delight in the thrill of doing things that were so excessive, so self-indulgent, so preposterously wealthy, and all with that dirty little smile that knew exactly what it was doing, and how it looked to those who had never seen wealth, how it looked to Tom; and how Malfoy basked in that glory. 

Malfoy walked over to him, tossing his hair slightly, pink tongue licking wine wetted lips. He looked stunning and he knew it. Malfoy handed him a crystal glass encrusted in white and pink diamonds. He leaned a little closer and pointed to one of the diamonds. “It’s champagne. The glass is designed to catch the light.”  
He came closer still and took Tom’s wrist, gently turning it: the glass glittered.  
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Malfoy said, his hand lingering at Tom’s wrist for too long.  
“Remarkable what money can buy,” said Tom, his eye fixed upon the glimmer of the diamonds, the way each caught the light at a slightly different angle, sending out perfect rays of purest light.  
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” said Malfoy, a flash of that new-found recklessness in his eyes. “Money is so much more than a pretty glass, Tom. Money means having anything I want. Money means shaping the world in my image. Money is religion and the wealthy are gods.”  
The way Malfoy was speaking had him mesmerised, so he let the use of his name slide, he would find a way for Malfoy to regret it later.  
Nevertheless, Tom knew at that moment, with Malfoy looking at him like that, that money was the answer to every problem, and it was something he would never really learn the art of. He had charm but not the casual assurance that his name alone would be sufficient to achieve. Everything about Tom was beautiful but unrefined, he was raw and coarse in ways that Malfoy was smooth and polished, so when Malfoy offered an arm, Tom took it without question.  
~  
They walked, Malfoy without a care. Tom didn’t care if people looked, didn’t care if Malfoy didn’t. Nonetheless, there was something that made him hate the way they looked at him. Their expressions soured, eyes narrowed. He wasn’t like them. He had no family name to be proud of and no family fortune to set his whims in motion, and so to them, he was nothing.  
Malfoy either through some newly developed intuition or a desire to keep Tom to himself led him across the room. He had no shame in pointing out the most exquisite pieces in the Malfoy collection or stating how much they cost. Nor did he hesitate about showing the ludicrous immoderation of the manor. The carved ceilings designed by famous architects. The rugs were sewn by hand in the farthest corners of the world. The fireplace, a unique feature not seen in other houses of this period, making it a true rarity.  
Tom wondered if Malfoy knew how spoilt he sounded. If he did, he didn’t care. Instead, he leaned closer to Tom until his hand brushed repeatedly against his arm, and his intentions were not in the least bit subtle. 

Malfoy pulled him through rooms and rooms of finery, rooms filled with things no one needed, things no one would want to own if they didn’t show off the status of their family.  
Malfoy led him up ancient staircases, past tapestries that showed the Malfoy lineage, up the windows made from crystal and painted in extraordinary colours. He was like a bird preening its feathers, not so subtly showing off everything he had at his disposal.  
As much as he hated himself for it, Tom was still amazed at every new article, picture, fabric, colour, carving. It made him sick to be with someone so spoilt and out of touch with the real world, and yet the wealth was intoxicating. Tom could see why they were all rotting; money was so addictive. It constantly demanded more and more to be spent, until they were drowning in excess and unable to connect with those who had less. The cycle was captivating and so very enticing; part of Tom wanted to drown with them in their money-drenched world. The rest of him wanted to be the lone survivor of this holocaust. The one person enduring the excess and not falling a willing victim to its corruption. Tom rather liked the idea of being the only one to resist the temptation to sink below the surface of affluence, the only one not to choke on prosperity. That would truly make him a god.  
He looked across at Malfoy, who in this light could, by those inclined, be described as handsome. Malfoy had shown his willingness to indulge, there was nothing in life to say Malfoy couldn’t take the fall for Tom’s immoderations. Malfoy could suffocate under the careful influence of Tom; would it really be a loss? Perhaps it would, but the sacrifice would be worth it.

“Is there anything you really want?” said Malfoy, his gaze lingering on parts of Tom that it shouldn’t.  
“To see what you think would impress me the most,” Tom said genuinely interested what Malfoy deemed to be the most impressive thing to him.  
Malfoy was all too willing to show him everything he wanted. They climbed small winding staircases to large, silent rooms whose only purpose seemed to be to show the social standing of the Malfoys. They were filled with antique furniture that looked like it was never used, pristine cupboards filled with pristine art, all the rough edges smoothed away so that the result gleamed with a painfully obvious artificiality.  
Malfoy led him to a balcony door, “I trust you’ll be impressed by what you’re going to see.”  
Tom smiled, “oh, I’m sure I will.”  
~  
The cold wind made him shiver as it bit at his neck, the balcony on which they stood was part of the central tower and from it, the Malfoy estate could truly be appreciated. The moon shone, casting an elegant glow across the trees and gardens. It illuminated the statues, humbling them in its gaze until they became its loyal followers. The lakes sparkled in the pale light, emphasising their depth, their hidden secrets that next to none would ever know.  
Money complimented magic. Made it more powerful, impelled it to a new meaning. Magic without money could only go so far, and money without magic would never be notorious. Without Abraxas, Tom had little, and without Tom, Abraxas had little.  
Abraxas seemed to understand this. He moved closer and turned his head to face Tom. “Do you like what you see?”  
Tom kept looking out across the grounds, “you know I do – Abraxas.”  
Tom wasn’t sure when he started thinking of Malfoy as Abraxas, he didn’t do that, even with Lestrange. But Lestrange wasn’t anything like Abraxas; where Lestrange was severe Abraxas laughed, Lestrange kept his kisses and touches to dark doorways, Abraxas had learnt to openly flirt. He still liked Lestrange better, but Abraxas was intriguing him, and Tom would always be curious about the intriguing.

“Is the view the only thing you like?” said Abraxas, with a self-confidence that had to come with money. He was so certain that he was completely irresistible, and perhaps he was. He turned to Abraxas, taking his time to drag his eyes across every inch of him. Yes, he was striking, especially in the moonlight that made his hair glow, But Tom had always been better inclined to looking than doing. Except now, now he knew how much Abraxas wanted it, he couldn’t help but wonder how much support it could guarantee. Whether a little effort could be a simple answer to everything. To have Abraxas was to have a limitless supply of – anything.  
“You might have something I want,” said Tom looking straight into Abraxas’ eyes and biting his lip in a way that Lestrange said was irresistible.  
~  
They lay together on Abraxas’ expensive sheets. Tom shouldn’t have been surprised that it was stupidly big and had a ridiculous number of cushions, or that Abraxas’ fingers were stroking his thigh. He turned to look at Abraxas. The latter was already facing him. Two floors below them the faint noises of celebrations could still be heard.  
Abraxas leaned over and kissed him. He was soft and gentle as if Tom were a piece of fine Malfoy glass and Abraxas was afraid to break him. When Tom didn’t react, Abraxas straddled him and kissed him again. These kisses were sloppier, harder, wetter; Abraxas’ tongue doing things his parents would be ashamed of.  
Tom sighed, Abraxas was worth it, worth the marginal unpleasantness and expectations, it would create. Money was worth it, money would change the world as long as the right person was spending it, and with Abraxas so weak and desperate that responsibility would fall on him. So, he kissed Abraxas. His legs wrapped around Abraxas’ back, pulling him closer; Tom undid the buttons of his outrageously expensive shirt, trailing his fingers in a way he’d learnt was as intimate as it was seductive. Abraxas whined, louder when Tom pushed him on to his back. 

Tom didn’t mind Abraxas’ heavy breathing and hot moans, or the way his fingers twisted the expensive sheets or the way his toes clicked as they scrunched, his heels digging into Tom’s back. Tom didn’t mind because, although his head was buried in Abraxas’ lap, he was the one causing Abraxas’ shudders, his incoherent curses. He was stripping Abraxas of his self-assurance, showing the undefined rawness that lay beneath, the desperate vulnerabilities that Abraxas kept hidden from everyone else.  
In the stillness Tom could almost forget Abraxas was so disgustingly rich, could almost mistake him for someone normal. Someone who didn’t have his every need catered for before he could express it. Someone who wasn’t surrounded by so much wealth they were suffocating, watching their soul slowly rot with the excess. No, Abraxas whimpered like everyone else, his voice cracking, hips trembling with the same primal need. He begged like everyone else, throat dry and desire on his tongue as he pleaded to be both restrained by and released from pleasure.  
Abraxas wasn’t special when he came, he was – just like everybody else in the world; and yet Abraxas wasn’t like the others, he had money and it made him that much sweeter.  
Tom pushed him back against the bed, straddling his stomach.  
“What do I get for that?” Tom said, his forehead pressed against Abraxas’. The latter opened his eyes and gazed at Tom, something akin to love in his face, or at least whatever Abraxas thought love was.  
“Something. Anything. Everything you want,” he said before shutting his eyes again and lying back.  
Together they listened to the pounding of his heart and Tom smirked. Abraxas was different from the others, his spirit was still decaying, but he was willing to take a chance on Tom and throw away his fortune for a little fun. Tom smiled to himself, you could never stop a Malfoy when they found out what they wanted. They would fixate on it, dote on it and give in to its every whim in the hope that one day it would truly belong to them, and Tom could only be smug that Abraxas wanted him so very badly.


End file.
